Not everything fragile breaks. Some things fragile become sacred instead.
We’ve been taught to measure strength by what resists, what endures, what never bends.
But there’s another kind of strength—quieter, subtler—the kind that feels everything and keeps soft anyway.
I’ve known tenderness that withstood storms more brutal than rage.
I’ve watched gentleness survive where hardness would have shattered.
Some hearts aren’t whole because they were never hurt.
They’re whole because they were honest—and healing never asked them to be anything else.
So if you’re holding something delicate—grief, hope, trust—don’t be ashamed of its shape.
It’s not weakness - It’s a sacred resilience - And that's more than enough
But there’s another kind of strength—quieter, subtler—the kind that feels everything and keeps soft anyway.
I’ve known tenderness that withstood storms more brutal than rage.
I’ve watched gentleness survive where hardness would have shattered.
Some hearts aren’t whole because they were never hurt.
They’re whole because they were honest—and healing never asked them to be anything else.
So if you’re holding something delicate—grief, hope, trust—don’t be ashamed of its shape.
It’s not weakness - It’s a sacred resilience - And that's more than enough